Genie in his bottle
by juliasejanus
Summary: What becomes of an ex-spy?


So, Sabina, you've finally tracked me down. What do you want to know? I am whole and healthy. I live on my own. Not dating, but that is not a surprise now is it. Its been three years since you told me I was a leech and that I was sucking your parents dry. I took your advice. I left and have not contacted them since. You should be ecstatic, you are a happy, normal family unit again, with no tosspot hanger on spoiling your idyll anymore.

My main problem now is the fact I have money. Being independently wealthy allows you the freedom to stick two fingers up at the world and at eighteen I had plenty of reasons to do just that. I do not have to work. Interest earned alone means I have an annual income of £20 grand. That amount did not include the long term investments and the money in offshore accounts. I am paranoid to plan for all eventualities.

So, I now live in a two bed flat in London. Well, a leasehold flat bought by a company that handles my investments, so legally there is no way to tie the flat to me. Even the council tax, service charges and all utility bills are handled via that company. My home is on the fifteenth floor overlooking the street and and the tennis courts beyond. My front door fitted with state of the art digital video surveillance recording all who pass my door.

Nor do I rely on medical or social services. I am my own person, my own boss. I did not have to listen to anyone, not anymore. I am twenty-one and living like an eighty year old. I had lived like this for over two years since returning to London. I am fine with being house bound. Life in the twenty-first century means anything I need can be ordered on the internet and delivered. I am always in for the delivery guys. Those guys are my only visitors after all. So, my food is delivered and all my banking done via the phone and internet. I do have friends, online friends. I've even kept in touch with three of the guys I've been to school with. No one you know though, Sab.

Most would say I am my own worst enemy, but my life plan is exactly where I want it to be. From fifteen to eighteen, I did just enough to appear normal, to finish school and keep the foster parents and my previous employers off my back. When everybody thought I was coping and fine, I was following my plan and I achieved my first goal when I secured the inheritance left my uncle and parents. I have fun playing the stock markets and tweeting my investments. I sold the house bought by my father in the seventies for a pittance and cashed in nearly seven million quid profit. It wasn't like I was ever going to live there again. Too many unhappy memories of my git of an uncle and the housekeeper who had actually been my only parental figure. With that money, I bought where I currently live. Installed four deadbolts on the front door, air conditioning for the few days its actually hot in England, a top of the range gym in the spare room and a home entertainment system to keep up with news and entertainment. My windows area fitted with plexiglass and all are locked shut. I moved in, closed the door and I have not been outside since.

If I was still living by the rules imposed by my short-term parents, I would still be seeing a shrink and be diagnosed with severe agoraphobia, paranoia and a disassociate personality disorder to boot. I've had enough of getting my head shrunk, thank you very much. I no longer have nightmares, panic attacks and I have been officially cured of my PTSD. My past no longer intrudes on my day to day existence. I'm not a failure. I'm just choose not to contribute to a society that condoned the hurt and abuse heaped on the shoulders of a vulnerable teenager.

You may think I look like Robinson Crusoe, but at fifteen I started to cut my own hair. I really was in a state after returning from Kenya. It took about four tries to get it right. Its short and neat. I have a beard, which I trim weekly. I keep my teeth meticulously clean and eat a healthy diet. Getting ill or having tooth ache would possibly be the only reason to leave my fortress, but I will cross that bridge when I come to it. I hate medical examinations, hospitals and dental check-ups as you know.

So, I'm fine. Thanks for your email. Don't visit. I stopped considering you a friend when you no longer acknowledged my existence at school and treated me like a leper at home. Nothing has changed for you to now ask after me. I really am fine. Leave me alone.

Your ex-friend, ex-foster brother and someone you do not have the right to be concerned about, Alex


End file.
